Well, that was quite the little flight of fancy (lol). A guy who surely must've been dropped on his head early in life--a sort of hyperactive Japanese Jim Ignatowski--meets up with a desperate GI on the lam. Neither of them can understand the other, which only adds to the hijinx. Then, after a good deal of symbolism and that sort of thing have intruded into the works, by the end nobody is even able to remember what reality looks like anymore.

One doesn't expect a very complex statement on the plight of black Americans from a Japanese director but it's a sympathetic outlook with some intriguing nuances. One of the stronger elements is the blistering score. Another highlight is Kurahara's vision of Tokyo as an apocalyptic wasteland. However, if the film has a weakness, it's Roland. His dialogue is often incomprehensible. The weakest of the Kurahara I've seen so far, but I'd like to see it again. Its off-kilter tone is hard to pin down.